Merry Crisis and Happy New Fear
by LovelyRequiem
Summary: What are the holidays like in Sutler's England? Featuring many of your favorite characters! Rating upped due to language in chapter 5. ON HIATUS due to lack of readership - final chapter will be posted Christmas 2013 since it will be in season again.
1. Chapter 1

**Authoress's Note**: Merry Christmas/Happy holidays/insert your phrase of choice here to all! Here is my gift to you, so I hope you like it. The title of this story is taken from an image – you can find it by typing in "Merry Crisis and Happy New Fear" into the search engine of your choice. Doing so will also bring up the history of the phrase, should you be interested. The inspiration for the story comes from the title, my desire to write a holiday tale and my obsession with dystopian fiction.

**Disclaimer**: The authoress does not own _V for Vendetta_ or any of its characters, nor does she own anything that is the creation and/or property of someone else. The authoress is in no way profiting monetarily from the creation of this story. This story is the work of the authoress's own mind; any similarity to any other story on any other site is pure coincidence. Please contact the authoress should an issue arise. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended.

* * *

December.

The holidays in Sutler's England were nothing to envy, at least not as far as Evey was concerned. It was only the second year for Christmas and it seemed as though nobody quite knew what to do with it. Before now, Christmas had been forbidden as one of the many things Sutler and his cronies deemed a "threat to national security," though nobody knew exactly how. For years there had been no Christmas – no delicious feasts, no pretty cards, no highly-anticipated presents, no cheesy wrapping paper, no colorful bows, no trees with twinkling lights and sparkling decorations. Christmas, instead, had been one more dark, dreary, fear-filled day in the lives of Londoners. A few brave souls had always attempted their own celebrations, but were always caught and harshly punished. Or disappeared.

Until last year. Last year, one of Sutler's cronies had suggested (either very courageously or very stupidly) reviving Christmas as a way to stimulate the failing economy. He had suggested that perhaps encouraging the purchasing of feasts and cards and presents and wrapping paper and bows and trees and lights and decorations could throw some much-needed money into the markets, thereby boosting sales and, it was hoped, public morale. (What the poor man had failed to recognize was that public morale was as dead as public hope in change and a better life.)

Still, Sutler had cautiously agreed to the plan against all predictions and stores had carried a limited supply of Christmas goodies. Not everyone had participated in the holiday; many believed it to be a trap for which they would be charged with treason and punished. When they saw how their neighbors escaped unscathed, they cautiously resolved to participate the following year.

Which is how Evey had ended up in this line at the store, tinsel and Christmas ornament in hand. The line was long, but there was only one checkstand open, and people were only buying one or two small things to decorate their homes with. She still was not confident that this was not a colossal joke Sutler was playing on the masses (and apparently nobody else was, either), though she could not pass up an opportunity to bring a little sparkle to her gloomy apartment. Why not? If she was to be punished for the holiday, at least she could enjoy it.

Nobody had predicted how popular Christmas would prove to be. It was nowhere close to the near-hysteria levels in other parts of the world, but it had done what Sutler and his team had set out to do – pump their citizens' hard-earned money into a weak economy, which had experienced a respectable boost after the holiday last year. It was hoped that this year that boost would go from "respectable" to "earth-shattering," though Evey doubted that would be the case. Citizens, despite their joy, still looked over their shoulders in the streets and hushed those who outwardly displayed too much excitement. There was simply no telling when this occasion would go from state-encouraged to state enemy. Best to keep your head down and hurry along as usual.

Scurrying back to her apartment, Evey tried to remember the last time she had enjoyed Christmas. It must have been when she was a little girl, before…before…before a time that she could not bear to think of. It was too painful to think of the past, and she was sure many Londoners shared the same opinions, though no one dared say so aloud for fear of seeming like they were criticizing the government and being black-bagged. _You can be black-bagged for almost anything anymore_, Evey thought gloomily.

Reaching her apartment, Evey hurried in out of the cold and dropped her loot on the counter. This place really was depressing, but it was all she could afford. The BTN hadn't paid well this year – Sutler hadn't thought they were doing a good enough job reporting the "news" and so their salaries had been slashed to shreds. She took a long look around before deciding to wrap one of her garland strands around her headboard and the other over the door. The ornament would receive a place of honor on her vanity in a little stand she had bought for it earlier in the week. Briefly, Evey wondered if she should fetch more decorations. She really felt it would lift her spirits, but she simply could not afford it. Her landlady had been kind enough to delay the due date for her rent one week, and decorations were nothing if she had no place to put them.

Still, maybe _one_ more garland wouldn't hurt…

* * *

**Authoress's Note Part 2:** Evey and V do NOT know each other at this point in the story. No word from the Muses on whether that will change or not. Also, this story is not set at any particular point in either the movieverse or the novelverse.

So, what do you think? Would you like to read more?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: The authoress does not own _V for Vendetta_ or any of its characters, nor does she own anything that is the creation and/or property of someone else. The authoress is in no way profiting monetarily from the creation of this story. This story is the work of the authoress's own mind; any similarity to any other story on any other site is pure coincidence. Please contact the authoress should an issue arise. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended.

**Thank you to firefly and Saya Kurobara for their kind reviews!**

* * *

Evey wasn't the only one marveling over the holiday. V was a bit into the holiday himself. And by a bit, he meant he sat cross-leg on his living room floor, head propped up on his chin, staring at the enormous tree in the middle of his living room, complete with enough strands of white lights to illuminate nearly the entire Gallery, enough tinsel to make the stars envious of their sparkle, and enough shiny dark red balls to make one question the original color of the tree. Oh yes – and a beautiful, mousy-haired angel atop (the box said her name was Evelyn), keeping watch over his little home.

V had never shied away from the holiday, dabbling in various decorations each year, but this year it was different. This year, on the second anniversary of a state-sponsored Christmas, he felt it a duty to decorate his tree on behalf of the citizens who would not have one, to celebrate on behalf of the cynical and the fallen, and to enjoy his holiday in the safety and comfort of home for those who would not be able to do the same.

Okay, perhaps he just went a little overboard with the decorations and was trying to justify keeping all of them. Still, it was a beautiful, if a little gaudy, tree, and V would certainly enjoy it and think of the Londoners who were not quite so lucky as he.

There was only one thing missing from his tree – presents. There would be no presents on underneath his tree, however. Nobody knew of his existence, and for now that suited him just fine. That would change at some point, though for now, knowledge of him was quite unnecessary.

V arose and slowly circled his tree, stopping at a few intervals to adjust a strand of tinsel. He was nothing if not fastidious – about everything, but certainly about his tree. It was perfect in his mind, but the empty space under it bothered him more than he cared to acknowledge. Presents should go there!

What a bother!

Glancing at the clock, V was surprised by the late hour. He'd started at his little (okay, enormous) tree far longer than he'd thought. But this certainly worked in his favor. He was in need of a trip topside to acquire some supplies – namely, his Christmas dinner. Gathering up his cloak, hat and knives, he took one last look at his tree before switching off the lights (mustn't start a fire in his absence!) and slipping out the door.

Above ground, V breathed in deeply, letting the crisp, wintery night air enter his lungs. It was cold enough to make them ache, but only in the best of ways. Snow covered the ground, making him step a bit more carefully than usual, as the crunch of the snow under his boots could give him away and he was in no mood for that. He was not terribly concerned with his footsteps in the snow; large, wet flakes fell from the sky and would soon fill them in.

V climbed up on top of a building and surveyed the scene before him. It really was quite lovely, like looking in a snowglobe. It was a shame that the loveliness he saw in the city did not match the horrors of the life he knew its citizens lived.

Hopping off the building and landing silently in a snow bank, V stole through the shadows to a grocer's a few blocks away. He knew the owners were a charming elderly couple who left the doors unlocked at night – the police in town were allowed to stop in and do their own shopping, so as long as they left their money on the counter, which they did. So far, the couple had never been cheated or their trust otherwise abused. The arrangement suited everyone, particularly V. He knew that no policemen would be coming in at this hour, and so took advantage of having the store to himself as he loaded two cloth sacks with the items he desired. He had always been grateful for this shopping convenience (really, it was quite a hassle to have to break into a store every time one needed groceries), and so when he paid his bill, he left a generous tip for the owners and a thank-you note on the back of his receipt.

Once back home in the Gallery with his groceries put away, V turned on his tree once again and admired the warm glow the lights sent through the Gallery. Even if he had overdone it on the decorations (he was of the less-is-more crowd), he was quite proud of how it looked and was confident he would enjoy it this season. There were still a few weeks until Christmas proper, but that didn't matter to V. Decorating for the holidays had been one of the few things that brought him joy over the years and as soon as he had taken his tree down, he looked forward to putting another one up 11 months later.

Ha! He was already thinking about next year's tree when this year's Christmas hadn't even come yet!

Smiling, he grabbed a pen and paper and sat down to plan his Christmas dinner menu.

* * *

**Authoress's Note:** I am terribly sorry if these two chapters are a bit slow. We've got to get everyone in the plane before we get it off the ground!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: The authoress does not own _V for Vendetta_ or any of its characters, nor does she own anything that is the creation and/or property of someone else. The authoress is in no way profiting monetarily from the creation of this story. This story is the work of the authoress's own mind; any similarity to any other story on any other site is pure coincidence. Please contact the authoress should an issue arise. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended.

**Love and thanks to firefly for the review!**

* * *

It was quite a house Gordon Deitrich lived in. Two stories, wood floors, seven bedrooms, six bathrooms, a formal living room, a less-formal living room, a massive but depressingly empty library (no books to be had in this country), a wine cellar, two dining rooms and a kitchen any celebrity chef would envy.

Yes, it was quite a house. He had saved for a long time to be able to buy it. It contained nearly everything he could ever want, and he was proud of it.

Except it did not contain the one thing he truly wanted – someone to share it with.

Oh, it was all so stereotypical, but what good was a lovely house when you were forced to rattle about in it by yourself? At least if he had someone else there, there would be someone to _hear_ his rattling, maybe even join in.

He sighed and stared out the window, one hand on the wall and the other in his pocket. No use in dwelling on that – that wouldn't happen. But at least tomorrow he would throw the first of several Christmas parties for his office coworkers and he hoped it would be a smashing success. A certain Miss Evey Hammond would be attending the very first party (or at least, she had RSVPed that she would), and he hoped many (okay, all) of the others. Though he wasn't…inclined…toward her (or her gender), he appreciated her company and could see that she had a natural vivacity that he was quite certain could light up a room. He could also see that something had happened to her in her past that squelched that vivacity. Regardless of how shy she might look, she saw everything, heard everything, _knew_ everything about any given moment. Perhaps being in a room full of people her own rank (and _not_ that bully Patricia) would bring that out.

He intended to throw quite a party. Like many others the previous year, he had stayed as far away from Christmas as he could get, believing it all to be a good laugh for Sutler at the expense of the people – or at least, the expense of the people he would arrest. Now, like many others _this_ year, he intended to celebrate. _Un_like them, though, Gordon intended to go all-out for his celebration. No single strands of tinsel here – he had a seven-foot-tall tree in his formal living room positively dripping with lights and ornaments and tinsel with a star at the top as big as his head. Truth be told, he wasn't sure the tree would last the season without falling over from the sheer weight of the decorations.

But why not? He was well-known to be a lover of the ridiculously extravagant, so he might as well take advantage of his reputation – in more ways than one.

Underneath his enormous tree was an equally enormous stack of presents for his coworkers, wrapped in metallic paper of varying colors and tied with gold bows. Granted, the presents inside them weren't much, but they were what he could do: a new pair of gloves for one, a new coat for another, a bottle of lotion or a new shirt for yet another…what he knew they could use.

Although Gordon had a reputation for the absurd and the lavish, he also had a reputation for generosity. On this note, he was as observant as the nearest Fingerman about the people around him and couldn't help but notice how his friends and coworkers shivered in the cold from the tatters in their coats and their how uncovered hands stiffened in the biting wind, how their hands cracked and peeled from the dry winter air, or how they wore the same shirt to work every day (and it showed). There wasn't much to be had in these days and even less money to pay for it with. He was one of the lucky ones; others were not as fortunate. It was out of the kindness of his heart – never pity or malice – that he spent his money on these things for his coworkers. It never crossed his mind that someone would be ungrateful, and if they were, well, he thought perhaps they didn't fully realize the world that they were living in.

A massive tree, gifts, and of course, dinner. A Christmas party was not complete without Christmas dinner. To that end, the dinner was just as lavish as the tree, partly just because he could, and partly because he knew that would be the best meal some of his invitees would eat for quite awhile. No, not all of the food would be particularly British in nature, but he didn't think anyone would complain. There would be a roasted goose, a roasted turkey, a roasted ham, two kinds of potatoes, Brussels sprouts, roasted parsnips, sir-fried Chinese vegetables, applesauce, basmati rice with dill, cranberry sauce, bread sauce, garlicky green beans, brown sugar carrots, flatbread and dinner rolls. Dessert would consist of a Christmas pudding and a chocolate cake with coffee (yes, coffee!) and tea for those who desired it. There would also be a sizable selection of wines for his guests to enjoy, and sparkling cider for those who chose not to partake in holiday libations.

That feast cost Gordon a sizable fortune.

The other parties for the higher-ups at the BTN would not be nearly so fancy. They could afford all of those things themselves. Those of and around Evey Hammond's position could not, not in a million years. Not unless the country underwent a revolution of some sort, and who knew when that would happen? Certainly not in his lifetime.

Turning away from the window in an even worse mood than before, Gordon wandered back to his less-formal living room, settled himself on the (very plush) couch and flipped on the television to see what kind of Party rhetoric about the newfound holiday the anchors would be spouting tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: The authoress does not own _V for Vendetta_ or any of its characters, nor does she own anything that is the creation and/or property of someone else. The authoress is in no way profiting monetarily from the creation of this story. This story is the work of the authoress's own mind; any similarity to any other story on any other site is pure coincidence. Please contact the authoress should an issue arise. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended.

**Love and thanks to rookwoodwho for the review, and to those who have favorited and/or followed!**

**Also, my sincerest apologies this was not updated sooner. This poor little story got shoved to the side in the midst of holiday celebratory chaos.**

* * *

Eric Finch was not at all excited about this Christmas. In fact, he was even less excited about it this year than he was last year. At least last year he was left alone for the occasion. This year, however, he had received orders to (very discreetly, of course) monitor the Christmas parties of one Gordon Deitrich. No one had yet told him exactly how he was to do this; it was his problem to solve. Deitrich's neighborhood never changed, so any kind of idiotic, completely obvious movie-style van-police-spy setup that those in other areas of the city were used to simply wouldn't fly in Deitrich's neighborhood, and Finch was not keen on the idea of circling the block in a black luxury car for hours on end, or sitting up in a tree in the subfreezing temperatures.

Perhaps if he could secure an invite to Deitrich's party...

But no. Why would Deitrich invite _him_, of all people? The idea was positively ludicrous! Surely, though, Deitrich was not so foolish as to think he wouldn't be watched, and if he was, then he surely deserved everything he was liable to get. But while he was on the subject, why did Deitrich merit watching, anyway? He had never done a single thing that should make him suspect; indeed, he was one of the Party's most enthusiastic puppets, at least outwardly.

It _had_ to be his celebrity status – _had_ to. Because, though nobody would admit it, Deitrich and his television show was the Party's most effective tool in spreading Party news and propaganda, thereby ensuring the citizens' obedience. All the posters, flyers, threats, party officials and Fingermen in the world couldn't do what Deitrich did. Everyone, _everyone_, needed him. The government needed him to be their mouth and the people needed him to break the boredom and agony of their daily lives. Therefore, he had to stay in line. It would be a disaster if he angered the government in any way; no doubt he would be black-bagged and killed.

Sighing, Finch rose from his seat and reluctantly meandered out into the cold to ponder a solution to this little problem.

* * *

It really was quite a gamble for his man to bring up the idea of reinstating Christmas, Sutler mused as he wandered the halls of his palatial home, silk robe on his shoulders and brandy-cigar combo in his hand. Truth be told, Sutler had known that cancelling Christmas was a mistake the year he had done it for the first time, but it just wouldn't do for the government to admit making mistakes, and so he had never reinstated it. At the time, though, it had seemed a good idea. Large crowds of people never boded well for those in power, and the attempt on his life – and the lives of many in the crowd – had proved that. Also in the spirit of truth-telling, everyone, even Sutler, had overreacted. But, he mused again, pausing to look out a window, the government should not be viewed as a mistake-maker or an over-reactor, and from then on there was simply no Christmas.

Until last year. Sutler hadn't yet given a reason for the sudden lift of the band, though it was rumored – correctly – to be a desperate attempt to revive the failing economy; religion and piety had nothing to do with it. This was one truth he didn't think it was necessary to hide. It was much more prudent to place his energy and resources into something else, some other lie to spin. (Though almost nobody had spent a large amount of money on Christmas, together everyone's little purchases added up to give what was so far an acceptable economic boost.)

Still, Sutler was uneasy. People were once again massing in large crowds in various locations around the city to celebrate together. That was, and always would be, unacceptable, and Sutler wasn't yet convinced that the benefits of Christmas outweighed the risks. But what to do? It was far too late to go back on his word and cancel the holiday yet again – and lose valuable revenue – but there was next to nothing Sutler liked about this holiday.

Pacing the halls once more, he reflected on how the loss of the holiday had affected the country. The loss of money, of course, was the main issue. Retailers took a massive hit that they still hadn't recovered from; some were even forced to close. Citizen morale, never very high, had plummeted as they watched the Fingermen burn their beloved Christmas odds and ends – from snowy plastic trees to ornaments and even ugly Christmas sweaters – out in the open squares for all to see. Angry mobs had, at first, fought back, but not for very long. That was the only time Sutler had allowed the masses to fight back; he knew it would be too difficult to suppress them unless they felt they had given their all in support of a holiday they held dear. (Of course, they were doomed to failure from the very start, but they didn't know that.) Even after the widespread violence stopped, the bravest of souls still gathered in protest on Christmas Even and Christmas Day – and were promptly dealt with.

No, Sutler decided as he headed for his bedroom. The usefulness of Christmas had run its course, and it was once again necessary to eliminate it.

But how?

* * *

**Authoress's Note:** I don't want to be one of those authors that refuses to update their stories unless they get X number of reviews. However, if I don't receive some feedback, I won't update because I don't think anyone is reading my story, or they don't like it. Therefore, if you are enjoying this story, it would be really, really awesome if you would let me know so I don't let it fall by the wayside and leave you all hanging. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** The authoress does not own _V for Vendetta _or any of its characters, nor does she own anything that is the creation and/or property of someone else. The authoress is in no way profiting monetarily from the creation of this story. This story is the work of the authoress's own mind; any similarity to any other story on any other site is pure coincidence. Please contact the authoress should an issue arise. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended.

**My thanks to firefly and Kamonra for the reviews!**

**My apologies for the wait. This chapter took much longer to hammer out than I anticipated.**

**Please be sure to read Authoress's Note #2 at the end of the chapter before you leave any nasty comments.**

* * *

The day of the party arrived. Or rather, the day of the _biggest_ party arrived. Smaller, more intimate, more _uncomfortable_ parties for the higher ups at the BTN would follow, but this evening's party was for the lowest of the low – the go-fors, the interns, the janitors and the like. This was the party when everyone involved could drop the rigid politeness of the office and simply enjoy themselves for the evening. This was the party Evey was expected to attend.

Gordon sincerely hoped he wasn't being…well, creepy…about it, but he did hope that Evey would come as she had said she would. He also knew, almost for a fact, that he would be watched this evening, though he could not predict by whom.

Naturally, the party that Gordon cared the most about would be the one that had the most things go wrong before the guests even got there. He gladly assisted his cook in preparing the feast (for he was a fantastic cook himself), but both of them had seriously underestimated the amount of time it would take to cook all this food. As of right now, late afternoon, not one thing was finished save the applesauce, and that was because it had come from a jar. The poor turkey had been forgotten about, all by itself in the oven, and so had burned beyond all hope or recognition (and filled the kitchen with smoke and the house with an awful smell). Neither chef was sure they had time to start another, but decided to risk it with the hopes that if it didn't turn out quite in time it wouldn't be missed by the dinner guests. (Gordon had promised the cook that in that case, she could finish cooking it and take the entire thing home to her family.)

In addition to the kitchen debacle, Gordon was right in his estimate that the tree would not last the holidays without toppling over. It had done so at roughly three in the morning, falling with a spectacular CRASH! that jolted him from sleep to investigate, convinced he was about to be carried away by Fingermen that had just burst into his house. When he arrived downstairs, however, there were no Fingermen to be seen, just his beautiful tree on the floor, glass ornaments and lights smashed to bits. Their wicked shards littered the formal living room and hallway floors and he was forced to traipse upstairs for a pair of shoes before he began what would be a long clean-up job.

* * *

Evey wasn't sure if she was excited for this party or not. It was sure to be a lovely evening, but an evening was a long time to dig yourself into a hole when one of your superiors who could determine your fate, Gordon Deitrich, was watching. She didn't think he was the type to judge or destroy based on a Christmas party, but she had learned long ago not to put anything past those bastards at the BTN. They'd sell anyone out if they thought it would advance their position – and it usually did.

Sighing, Evey yanked a brush through her unruly locks (of all the days to have a bad hair day!) and growled when it got stuck on a particularly troublesome knot. After a few moments of tugging, it came free and she threw it across the room in frustration before stalking to her closet to decide what to wear. Mr. Deitrich could just deal with her half-done hair.

* * *

The party would have one guest who was, unfortunately, not invited and might destroy the evening. It was Eric Finch, complete with orders to observe the proceedings and report anything untoward, though how he chose to interpret those orders was entirely up to him. Because of this, he decided to give the showman a little privacy and park a car across the street from his house. This way, he could follow his orders but not disrupt the privacy of the affair.

* * *

V smiled at the gift currently gracing the middle of his living room. It was from Gordon, a thank-you for helping him acquire all the necessary foodstuffs and miscellaneous items for his party. It was a medieval knight's suit of armor, a reproduction of course, but still worthy of the masked man's presence. Gordon had even sent along a few swords for the inevitable battles to come. How his friend knew him well!

* * *

As Gordon stood on his front stoop, welcoming the last of the dinner guests to his home and thanking his lucky stars he had set his house aright in time, he couldn't help but notice the black car sitting rather conspicuously across the street. Shaking his head, Gordon couldn't help but pity the poor soul assigned to watch his every move tonight. It was bitterly cold and a light snow was falling, and the poor fellow didn't even have the car on to keep him warm – no doubt in an effort to not waste precious gasoline. As much as out of the goodness of his heart as in an attempt to curry a little favor, he would make the gentleman's job a little easier...

* * *

Finch nearly jumped out of his seat at the polite _tap tap tap_ on his window. He hadn't been paying one whit of attention to Deitrich or his dinner guests. He was baffled to see Deitrich himself standing there. Rolling down the window, he issued a terse, "Yes?"

Smiling a little, Deitrich handing him a tall, warm thermos full of…

"Coffee. Freshly made and still very hot, so be careful. Cream and sugar packets are in the cup that's screwed on to the bottom. No, I didn't poison it," he said. Pausing for a moment, he continued, "I don't like what you're doing and by the look on your face, you don't either. Still, there's no reason to stay out here if I can make your job easier. If you'll slip around to the back of the house, I've set up some outdoor heaters and it's quite toasty. You won't be easily noticed if you hide in the bushes. Be careful to stay in the shadows; it's bright with all those lights on." With a polite nod of his head and a (slightly annoying) half-smile, Deitrich turned away and headed back to his party.

And Finch headed to those shadowy bushes.

* * *

Evey was pleasantly surprised to be enjoying herself as much as she was. Nothing terrible had happened this evening, except a minor slip on the icy sidewalk, from which she recovered with her dress and dignity intact. She was even able to relax in the presence of her colleagues, finding Mr. Deitrich to be much more relaxed in person than he was at the office, a truth for everyone in the room. He was characteristically warm and hysterically funny, but also an excellent host, seeing to it that nobody's glass went empty at dinner, that there was enough food to go around, and that nobody was left out of the conversation.

Everyone was stunned by the amount and quality of gifts he gave after dinner, except for the intern Miranda. Mr. Deitrich had purchased a lovely button-down collared shirt with pink, grey and white stripes in just her size. Those in attendance could barely conceal their admiration for the article.

Miranda, on the other hand, had thrown the shirt and the box it came in across the room with a loud, "I don't need this, Mr. Deitrich!" and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

After a moment, he picked up the shirt, folded it neatly and inquired as to whether anyone else would like to have it. Evey responded with a quiet, "If you don't mind, I'll take it, Mr. Deitrich," and smiled when he handed to her with an overly theatrical bow.

"Well, then. Shall we continue?" he asked brightly, noticing a dark flash outside his patio door. It was Finch, waving him over. Discreetly, Gordon gestured for the man to wait a moment as he handed out the rest of the presents.

"Ladies and gentleman, I beg you to forgive my rudeness, but I'm finding myself wanting to admire the stars for a moment, so if you'll excuse me, I'm going to step outside. Don't wait for me – open your packages! I shan't force you to contain your excitement any longer than absolutely necessary," Gordon said, crossing to the beautiful French doors and closing them behind him with a soft click. He wandered over to where Finch was hiding, hands in his pockets and whistling a tune in an effort to appear as innocent as possible.

The look on Finch's face stopped him in his tracks.

"Send your guests home, Deitrich," Finch commanded in a low voice.

Worried, Gordon asked, "Why? What's wrong? What have I done?"

Finch shook his head. "You haven't done anything. Don't worry. But send your guests home, Deitrich. _Now_."

* * *

**Authoress's Note #1**: In case you missed it, the discarded shirt Evey takes is the one she wears in the movie when V takes her to his Gallery. V's suit of armor from Gordon is also the one in the Gallery. :-)

**Authoress's Note #2**: I realize that the idea that V and Gordon know each other is not entirely original, and I realize that previous stories from other authors have contained that premise. I promise you I did _not_ steal that idea from the respective authors of said stories. I honestly do believe they knew each other, though I won't bother to write a story speculating how because I think authors more talented than I have done a sensational job of that. Here's why I think that: How else would V know Gordon had a Koran in his house? Why else would V have thought Gordon would be simply arrested and not executed? (My answer: because he didn't think the book would be found.) And why didn't V anticipate the Koran being found? Somehow he had to know about that secret room of Gordon's, how to get in it, and what Gordon had hidden there. I honestly think there is much more to either Gordon or V than we are told, and I think they hold the keys to many questions about the other.


End file.
